Helplessness and Confusion
Emily stepped out of the church with a heavy heart, yet clinging to a fragile hope. Tears had streamed down her face as she begged the Lord for a child. Ten years of marriage to Thomas, and still no pregnancy. She had pleaded in prayer, visited countless doctors, only to be told the same hollow reassurance: “You’re both healthy. Sometimes it just takes time.”
“How much longer, Tom?” she would murmur, searching his face. “A family isnt complete without a child.”
Thomas ached for an heir too. His business thrived, their home was comfortablemoney was no obstacle. Only the silence of the nursery tormented them.
“Em, maybe we could adopt?” he suggested gently.
“No, Tom. I want to carry my own child. The doctors say theres nothing wrong with me…”
Then, as if heaven had relentedor perhaps time had simply alignedEmily conceived. Joy flooded their lives, boundless and radiant. The pregnancy was difficult, but she endured every ache, every fear, for the sake of their long-awaited baby.
Little Oliver arrived frail, prone to illness. His parents hovered over him, shielding him from every imagined danger. No playgrounds, no roughhousing with other children. Only the safest foods, the softest blankets. By four, he had a tablet; by seven, the latest smartphone. Every whim was indulgeduntil indulgence twisted into something monstrous.
Thomas was always at the office. Emily stayed home, catering to Olivers demands. If she dared serve him something he hadnt requested, hed sneer, “What is this rubbish? I wont eat it!” before emptying a salt shaker into the bowl.
At thirteen, he was a storm of contempt. Emily confided in Thomas, who waved it off: “Its just a phase, love. Hell grow out of it.”
One evening, Thomas arrived with a gift. “Look, sona new phone!”
Oliver snatched the box, then moments later, his voice dripped with venom. “This is trash. Only paupers use this model. You want me to be a laughingstock?” He hurled it across the room and slammed the door.
His parents exchanged stunned glances.
“I told you,” Emily whispered. Thomas had no reply.
Clothes, shoes, gadgetsnothing was bought without his approval, lest he erupt in fury. Then the school called.
Emilys stomach knotted. What had he done now?
“Mrs. Hartley,” the teacher began, “we need to discuss Olivers behaviour. He insults staff, disrupts lessons, then smirks and quotes his rights when reprimanded. He lends his phone to classmatesthen extorts money for its return. He demands they do his homework.”
Shame burned through her. She stammered an apology, promising to intervene.
But at home, Oliver stormed in, kicking off his designer trainers. “Schools a joke. And MumI told you to keep my door shut. Stay out!”
Emily bit her tongue, exhaustion gnawing at her. His rage was constant, a furnace fed by imagined slights.
She set the table, but he didnt come. When she entered his room, he stood there, scissors in hand, methodically slicing through his leather jacket. His smirk froze her blood.
“Like it? This is what happens when you meddle. Buy me a better oneor Ill do it again.”
The slap rang out before she could stop herself. His wide eyes flickeredfirst shock, then something darker. He grabbed his phone.
“Police? My mother just hit me. Yes, my own mother. Hurry.”
The officer blinked at the opulent flat, the well-dressed boy. “A misunderstanding, surely?”
“No misunderstanding,” Oliver spat. “I want her punished.”
The policeman hesitated. Hed seen neglect, filth, despairbut this?
“Take him,” Emily said wearily. “Maybe then something will change.”
Two days later, social workers arrived. They listened, then turned to Oliver. “Pack your things. Youre coming with us.”
“Where?”
“A residential home. If youre being mistreated, we must act.”
His bravado crumbled.
That night, Emily sank into a chair. “Tom, I never imagined this but its our only chance.”
Oliver called the next day, voice small. “Mum, get me out of here. The foods slop. They took my things”
“We cant,” she said. “Weve been restricted for two weeks.” Then she hung up.
The social worker had been kind. “We see this often. Children whove never heard no.”
When Thomas finally fetched him, Oliver was unrecognisablequiet, chastened.
“Dad are you taking me home for good?”
“Do you want to be?”
“Yes.”
At the threshold, Oliver exhaled. “Its so good to be back. Mum Dad Im sorry. I was horrible.”
Emily smiled faintly. “Welcome home, love. Dinners ready.”
